#mary oliver north country | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aurorasandsadprose-collages · 6 months

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on hope

vladimir nabokov || tropics777 on tumblr || mary oliver, “north country” || bakwaas on tumblr || david hockney, “remember you cannot look at the sun or death for very long” || vincent van gogh || bestofgentleearth on tumblr || the oh hellos, “there beneath” || healing-is-cool on tumblr

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hauntedbythenarrative · 2 years

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North Country, Mary Oliver//Holly Warburton

#mary oliver #north country #holly warburton #web weaving #mine #quotes #words #poetry #life #kindness #soft

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asoftepiloguemylove · 10 months

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Natalie Wee NEVER BEEN KISSED / pinterest / 밤의 해변에서 혼자 On the Beach at Night Alone (2017) dir. 홍상수 Hong Sang-soo / Evelyn Waugh Brideshead Revisited / Mary Oliver North Country / Cheryl Strayed Tiny Beautiful Things / Aftersun (2022) dir. Charlotte Wells / Franz Wright East Boston, 1996; God's Silence

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llovelymoonn · 1 year

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my favourite mary oliver quotes

marengo (via @louisegluck) \\ the uses of sorrow \\ north country \\ upstream: selected essays (via @feral-ballad) \\ felicity: “moments” (via @louisegluck) \\ franz marc’s blue horses (via @prehistoricmancunt) \\ dogfish (via @archiveofyearning --> i love this whole post with all my heart <33) \\ don’t hesitate \\ felicity: “i did think, let’s go about this slowly” \\ devotions: “from west wind” (via @feral-ballad)

buy me a chai latte

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mrcowboydeanwinchester · 8 months

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it is okay to only know one song if it is this one......... jesus christ

#god north country by mary oliver really is something different #ola.txt

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curpstomb · 2 years

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#mary #oliver #poetry #north country #mary oliver #daily mary oliver

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fandom-trash-goblin · 2 months

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i beg you to love me, say that i'm enough, but you tell me— why are you like this? i think there's something wrong with you.

for @shestrying

thanks to @acelania for finding the unknowns!

in image / desperation sits heavy on my tongue, tumblr user tullipsink / mary oliver, ‘north country’ / virginia woolf, letter to violet dickinson / in image / blythe baird, from if my body could speak / Alice in Bed: A Play' by Susan Sontag (link in comment) / lynee rae perkins, criss cross / elena ferrante, Those Who Leave and Those Who Stay' (trans. Ann Goldstein) / rainer maria rilke, from rilke’s book of hours / in image/ in image

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goldcoasthoney · 2 months

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north country by mary oliver

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crushing-on-nico-di-angelo · 1 year

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2023

invitation, mary oliver // the unabridged journals, sylvia plath // happy xmas, john lennon // north country, mary oliver // i am running into a new year, lucille clifton // salt, nayyirah waheed // diaries of franz kafka // bird by bird, anne lamott // sunrise, louise glück

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liefst · 1 year

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four metal chopsticks engraved with a quote from the poem "north country" by mary oliver:

you listen and you know you could / live a better life than you do, / be softer, kinder. and maybe / this year you will be able to do it. (ig @jannekemakes)

#mary oliver #poetry #hand engraving #engraving art #engraving #my art #artists on tumblr #handmade #poem #spring

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lemoncholy-stars · 4 months

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2024, on hope and trying to assume the best <3

Mary Oliver ~ North Country / Joy Haro ~ Remember / tumblr user @kosmogrl / Florence + The Machine ~ Dog Days Are Over / tumblr user @spiderversegf / Gang of Youths ~ Achilles Come Down / Zoe Adrien @discoidal ~ What Comes After / Taylor Swift, The Civil Wars ~ Safe and Sound / me lmao, i have a canva problem, quote by Alfred Lord Tennyson / Sue Zhao / Antavia Mason ~ I'm No Seamstress / me again with my canva problem / Taylor Swift ~ Long Story Short / tumblr user @grass-breath

#this took so much effort actually im gonna take a nap now #to everyone who makes web weavings i love u how on earth do y'all do this #web weaving #parallels #on hope and futures #new year's #new year's resolution #quotes #web weavings #parallel #happy new year

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lovely-abeille · 4 months

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Hi, could you make a web weave about people trying their best but it not being enough

north country, mary oliver // blue rotunda, louise glück // not strong enough, boygenius // rilke's book of hours, rainer maria rilke // fernando pessoa // memory of forgetfullness, mahmound darwish

#web weaving #web weave #fragments #poetry fragments #dark acadamia quotes #literature #lit #mirrorball #on self #parallels #mary oliver #boygenius #rainer maria rilke

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chronically-ghosted · 3 months

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between the earth and sky (lover, share your road - prologue) series masterlist | AO3 Link | part i

chapter rating: T (series: E)

word count: 1.1K

chapter summary: how Joel Miller's forefathers came to settle the southern plains

chapter warnings/tags: references to genocide (human and animal), racism

a/n: Miller County was a real place!

Vincente Ramón Morelos with his wife María Guadalupe Rodríguez Saldaña went in search of a better life in 1848.

Exhausted from the bloody revolution against Spain, then the devastating loss at the hands of white “rebels”, the childless couple leave the southern hill country by the San Antonio river to go north, to find peace, in a place that the Anglos have never touched — so promised Señor De La Cruz, a former comandante like Vincente, who shared his dream of wide, open spaces, and a sky that stretches into infinite possibilities.

This land they marched across, with its barren trees and flat golden spreads, is nothing like anything they’ve ever seen before. The wagon chain the Morelos follow whispered in hushed, awed tones. María reached out the side of the wagon, letting her hand brush against brown thistles, watching how the reed springs under her fingers, how it tickles her palm. She never knew the earth could be so soft – teasing her with some great secret it’s eager to share. She looked to her husband and he glowed beneath the rich blue sky and bronze sun. Maybe this was God showing her how to fall in love with a new home.

Towns became few and far between. In a transitory cattle town, Vincente listens to two vaqueros tell stories over a loose game of poker about a briefly-disputed patch of land, five hundred miles east, one that exchanged ownership three times before disappearing into obscurity. But a single name settled permanently, before its township ever could: Miller County. Vincente quietly related to that blurring of identity, a loss of a permanent place to be known and loved, so when going through towns of white Texan Anglos that distrusted his olive skin and aquiline nose, he told them his name was Vincent Miller and he was, like all others, looking for a place to call home. He found it north of what would become Amarillo, and south of what would be Dalhart, between the Canadian and Red River, rivers that never seemed as endless and deep as the Gulf from his childhood.

By the spring of 1852, Mary (formerly María) and Vincent, established on their acre of land, had welcomed two girls and were expecting a third child, who ended up being a boy. This boy was given the name John (though his mother called him Juan at home) Tomás Miller, after Mary’s grandfather. As a boy, John learned from his father Vincent to listen and trust the Kiowa, the Comanche, the Gods of the Grass Sea, who were said to have been born with a heart of a buffalo. Who walked with prairie chickens and raced the pronghorn antelopes. Recognizing a kinship with nomadic blood of the Millers – once Morelos – the Comanche taught them what it meant to use the land as one uses a brother for support. Use in kind, but treat just as kindly. Avoiding what the Anglos referred to as “dry farming” because it was only the Anglos who believed, by sheer force of will, they could make rain come down from the sky. The Comanche were shocked by their arrogance. As he grew older and stronger beneath that heavy sunshine that had endeared his mother to these foreign lands, John maintained his father’s relationship with The First People, even aiding them in keeping the encroaching Anglo homesteaders off the lands of the buffalo and the blue grama grass.

When John married in the summer of 1885 a woman whose skin burnt easy in the sun, but had hands rougher than a sailor’s, Vincent was surprisingly happy for his son, because Jennie Sarah Hansen was quick-witted, brave, and possessed a rare quality when it came to the regards of the Tejanos and The First People – compassion. Disowned by her own family for such a trait, Jennie came to live with John, his father Vincent, his mother Mary, with letters from John’s two sisters and their families coming from down south every month.

Joel Ramón Miller was born in the late fall of 1891, followed shortly there by his brother, Tom – Tommy, because Tom was too serious for a boy with a smile like that – and the lineage of working under blue skies in endless dunes of buffalo grass was passed down, third generation of Vincent, who lived to see his oldest grandson turn five before quietly, with dignity, leaving this world in his sleep.

Tommy Miller continued to look towards the sun and, as a young man, followed it west. But Joel, like his father, like his grandfather, like the land itself, kept watch over the ones he loved from the porch of that a-frame house, the one his father built for his mother. For a time that included a woman with dark skin and darker eyes out of Alabama. And then it was just the baby who came from her, who came from him. Sarah, named after his mother who was as fierce and resilient as the buffalo grass and as beautiful as the endless sky.

As far as Joel Miller was concerned that was enough. The two of them – him and his babygirl, with the plums and the maize, and the secrets of this wide wilderness handed down in partnership from the Comanche and the Kiowa, because the Millers knew what to keep and what wasn’t theirs, or anyone’s, to own.

Until the day came when the buffalo were slaughtered by the thousands, and the once great Gods of the Grass Sea were felled, both driven to extinction by a force that held no compassion or concern for the lands it swallowed.

The cowboys over in the XIT, runners of cattle in the land that used to tremble beneath the hooves of thousands of buffalo, started to complain first. Rumbled that no good was to come of any of it; the American government gave too freely; real estate agents and land developers promised too much. Those arriving in the prairie came only for the green that the wheat boom offered, and had misjudged the quietness of the plains for emptiness.

Joel Miller watched as towns bloomed overnight, model E’s rumbled off the new railway lines, and nesters and sodbusters burrowed into their dugouts like wolf-spiders — at the cost of the beautiful, bellowing sea of grass. The bison were long dead, the Kiowa and Comanche now ghosts between the stalks of blue grama, and a wind was coming in from the north.

It whispered to those who could still listen and would heed its warnings.

And Joel Miller, with his only daughter, listened and waited and didn’t like what he heard. First, the drought came. Lasted ten years. Then the economic freefall that blew out entire financial systems on a global scale.

And then, like a ghoulish nightmare, a specter of death that came from the ill-resting spirits of the bison, came the dust storms.

The air crackled with electricity, car radios clicked off, overwhelmed by the static. Ignitions shorted out. Waves of sand swept over the roads. Children were lost and found thirty feet from their back doors, dead, suffocated on dust. Five thousand feet tall, wider than entire cities, this was blind vengeance, a reckoning well-deserved.

And for the first time in his life, Joel Miller was afraid.

series masterlist | part i

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asoftepiloguemylove · 1 year

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and i don't wanna be my mom's least favorite only child anymore

unknown / Destiny Fieldplate Gauntlets Description / Cheekface I Only Say I'm Sorry When I'm Wrong Now / Tanaka Mhishi Literary Sexts /@/grievng (on tumblr) / Mary Lu The Young Elites / Marie Howe After the Movie / Mary Oliver North Country / unknown / Susan Sontag excerpt from As Consciousness is Harnessed to Flesh: Journals and Notebooks, 1964-1980

i. unknown

[ "young, corrupted by tragedies of war and exile / alone in spite of himself / boy made of ash and a honey soaked dawn / rust on his hands, in his throat, in his lungs / bright-eyed, rough edges, scraped raw and twisted with time / where is his soft epilogue?" ]

ii. Destiny, Fieldplate Gauntlets Description

[ "Ignore every instinct to flee. Remember: you are a monster too." ]

iii. Tanaka Mhishi, Literary Sexts

[ "I am fragile and unholy. / Open. Ravage. Eat." ]

iv. @/grievng

[ "im so fucking angry that no one ever protected me and no one was ever in my fucking corner when i was a kid its not fucking fair" ]

v. Marie Lu, The Young Elites

[ "So. Tell me, little wolf. Would you like to punish those who have wronged you?" ]

vi. Cheekface, I Only Say I'm Sorry When I'm Wrong Now

[ "You're no longer fine / With the way that things are / Your heroes are dead / And so I guess you are the hero now" ]

vii. Marie Howe, After the Movie

[ "My friend Michael and I are walking home / arguing about the movie. / He says that he believes a person can love someone / and still be able to murder that person." ]

viii. Mary Oliver, North Country

[ "and gorgeous. You listen and you know you could live a better life than you do, be softer, kinder. And maybe this year you will be able to do it. Hear how his voice" ]

ix. unknown

[ "What happens when you get older / is you get over it. You buy flowers / to set on the table. You say your prayers. // You learn to live alone / the way you learned to love / everything // not dead."]

x. Susan Sontag, As Consciousness is Harnessed to Flesh

[ "I suffer from a chronic nausea-after I'm with people. The awareness (after-aware-ness) of how programmed I am, how insecure, how frightened." ]

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advanced-knocking · 2 years

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frida kahlo // louise glück - the denial of death // mary oliver - north country // shinji moon - here's what our parents never taught us // richard siken - war of the foxes // amanda palmer - in my mind // virginia woolf - orlando // cynthia cruz - refrain // the child formerly known as _ - cameron awkward-rich // counting crows - a murder of one

#hihi #web weaving #retribution #moldbright #whalesong

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oswlld · 2 years

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heather havrilesky, what if this were enough?

(There are many causes of death, among them the ache of life.)

mahmoud darwish, almond blossoms and beyond; “i do not know the stranger”

Suddenly you’re ripped into being alive. And life is pain, and life is suffering, and life is horror, but my god you’re alive and it’s spectacular.

joseph campbell

john steinbeck, journal of a novel: the east of eden letters

Years will pass, and you will have visitings of despair, and yet be tortured by hope.

mary shelley, frankenstein

catherine gildiner, good morning, monster: five heroic journeys to emotional recovery

I’m chasing myself (I have been for years).

susan sontag, as consciousness is harnessed to flesh

I’m homesick for myself In a place of home is a face I no longer recognize

lillium, in the place of the mirror is a portrait of you

miriam adeney

“I want you always to remember me. Will you remember that I existed, and that I stood next to you here like this?”

haruki murakami, norwegian wood

“If I change my mind, can I come back here?”

And then he answered his own question. “If I come back, it will be a place, but it won’t be home any longer.”

neil gaiman, the graveyard book

I: Why not take the shorter way home. HT: There was no shorter way home.

anne carson, men in the off hours

We can never go back. I know that now. We can go forward. We can find the love our hearts long for, but not until we let go grief about the love we lost long ago, when we were little and had no voice to speak the heart’s longing.

bell hooks, all about love

ryebreadgf, ordinary things

You listen and you know you could live a better life than you do, be softer, kinder. And maybe this year you will be able to do it.

mary oliver, north country

stendhal, the red and the black

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VICE VERSA (2022) ⪢ Underlying Themes/Experiences in Universal Travel — Part 2 of 2: Reconstruction of Self, Homesickness, Acceptance, & Hope

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